A Seven Year Hitch (2 page)

“I still find it so very strange that he disappeared so quickly and without trace. I wonder why
he never claimed my inheritance as he was so desperate for money at the time or indeed, why he has never tried to contact me. Surely it is as inconvenient to him to have an unknown wife as it is for me to have an absent stranger for a husband? ”

“Indeed one would think so
,” replied Sir Richard even though he knew her questions were merely rhetorical and had been asked countless times over the last seven years.

“It must be as we have surmised on numerous oc
casions. He must surely be dead; killed probably soon after the wedding and buried in an unmarked grave, although it is odd that no one at the time remarked on it when enquiries were made. You would think a body would evoke some sort of furore; have caused enough of a stir that people would recall it and be keen to talk about it, wouldn’t you? Goodness knows your investigations were extensive. It is such a mystery that no doubt we will never really get to solve it.”

“A puzzle indeed. And one that has ha
d me perplexed for far too long and so I will not deny that I am glad that it is drawing to a close. In five weeks we can consign it to the past where it belongs.”

Suddenly a twinkle replaced the puzzlement in her beautiful green eyes and Er
ica chuckled.  “I say Uncle, what bad luck it would be if he turned up now just as we are on the point of ridding ourselves of him?”

Sir Richar
d shuddered, “Do not tempt fate my dear! Let us declare him dead and be done. His appearance now would definitely cause no end of trouble and in all likelihood he would be unwilling to agree to an annulment.”

No probably not
,” she agreed, “So we would have to think up some excruciating forms of torture just in case he refuses to sign voluntarily. I know there’s a book in the library at home all about medieval instruments of torture because Gerald and Michael were always pouring over it when they were boys.  Perhaps I should seek it out and read it just in the unlikely event of him appearing.”

So saying she jumped up, kissed Sir Richard goodbye and s
trode quickly out of the office tying her bonnet as she went.

Outside
the sun was shining with barely a cloud in the sky and a gentle, warm breeze whispered through leaves and around the few people strolling along the village High Street. It was most definitely a day when troubles seemed to fade and optimism abounded.

“Good morning, Mrs. Hardy. It is good to see you out and about again. Have you recovered from your bout of illness?” Erica stopped to greet a neighbour whose carriage had just pulled up outside Sir Richard’s offices.

“Oh hello dear,” answered Mrs. Hardy “Yes, thank-you I am much better. Dr. Perry says I must take things gently for a little while but I simply felt I must get some fresh air and enjoy this beautiful weather. Is it true, what I hear,” she continued. “Is your brother returning to Monksleigh?”

“Yes, he has sold his commission in the army and we expect him back in the next few days
,” Erica confirmed.

“Oh how exciting for you. Let me think now; it must be all of six years since he was home.”

“Seven, Ma’am, to be precise. Of-course, we have seen each other in London on the rare occasions he has been in England, but it will be lovely having him home, safe and well.”

“I suppose he will be thinking of settling down and setting up his nursery now he has fulfi
lled his duty to his country?” enquired Mrs. Hardy.

“Possibly
!” replied Erica, inwardly smiling at the thought of all the local matchmaking Mamas who would be setting their sights on her unsuspecting brother. “Although initially his time will be taking up with learning about the estate management from Great Uncle James.”

“I must bring Jane to
visit you in the next few days Erica. She has just returned from a visit to her Grandmother in Bath and so I’m sure you will have plenty of gossip to catch up on. I know how you girls love to gossip.”

“I’ll look forward to your v
isit then, Mrs. Hardy. Good day,” Erica smiled in farewell and set off at a brisk walk out of the village in the direction of her home.

As she ambled along, Erica removed her bonnet and raised her face heavenwards and luxuriated in the warmth of the sun on her face. She knew that such an act would undoubtedly lead to the addition of a few more freckles across the bridge of her nose and make her unfashionably tanned skin a shade darker, but she couldn’t resist the warm rays that seemed to reach into her very soul, making her feel light hearted and carefree. She allowed her mind to wander back to the events of seven years before and dredged her memory for any minute detail she may have forgotten.

The day had begun normally enough. Great Uncle James, with whom she lived, had left for one of his frequent jaunts into London and was not expected back for several days. His sister Great Aunt Celia had accompanied him as she had wanted to consult with her London physician and so Erica had been left, as on previous occasions, in the care of Mrs. Kavanagh, the Housekeeper.

They had been very surprised
when around nine o’clock that evening, Boodle the Butler had answered a banging on the front door and Gerald staggered in, obviously the worse for drink, with a complete stranger in tow. It had been incredibly difficult to understand his ramblings of having been sent down from Oxford for the rest of the term due in his opinion to some mild misdemeanour; but impossible to work out where the stranger had fitted into it all. Eventually Mrs. Kavanagh, Boodle and Erica had concluded that he must be a friend from Oxford and therefore agreed to prepare a room for their unexpected guest.

It was only after the young men had consumed another bottle of wine that Erica, who had been sat in the relative safety of the kitchen, came t
o realize the danger she was in when, having been summoned by her brother, she was promptly whisked off to the rectory.

All that followed now seemed like a fantastic dream. What with Reverend Beveridge trying to talk sense to the inebriated youths, whilst
Erica wrangled with her brother and the stranger: tall, dark and strangely silent until that quietly spoken threat.

After the rushed exchange of vows, Erica had broken free and raced home, locking
herself in her room with Ellie her maid. But she need not have worried. Sometime later when her brother and newly acquired ‘husband’ had returned, they promptly entered the library to continue their drinking and it was here that she found them the next morning; slumped in chairs, snoring loudly and dribbling like the Octogenarians often found in Bath and other spa towns. She had turned away in disgust and having informed Boodle that he was to place all the alcohol in the wine cellars and hide the key; she had ridden first to the rectory to check that Reverend and Mrs. Beveridge had survived the ordeal, and then on to her Uncle Richard’s house.

Erica chuckled as she recalled the shocked and incredulous expre
ssion on Richard Stanier’s face as; between herself and the vicar, they had recounted the happenings of the night before. It was a testament to his iron self control that he retained his temper although he was heard on several occasions to mutter “I’ll horsewhip that boy!” and “When I get my hands on him…” It had been such a relief to hand everything over to Uncle Richard who always knew precisely what to do and would have everything sorted out as quickly as possible. And no doubt he would have done if it had not been for the fact that, upon returning to Monksleigh, they discovered that the bridegroom had left and when roused Gerald; still very much under the influence of drink, had calmly informed them that he had only met the man the day before and did not know anything about him other than his name.

Whilst Geral
d had slumped back into slumber Stanier, Beveridge and Erica had stood in stunned silence. In fact Erica distinctly remembered the Reverend moving his mouth in such a way that he resembled a fish, and Uncle Richard; who was never at a loss for words, had suddenly found himself in the novel position of being speechless. It was only after Erica herself had let out a screech that strongly resembled a tribal war cry and had launched herself at her brother in a move that would have made any wrestler proud, did the men regain any of their usual senses. It took the combined efforts of both of them to prise Erica’s fingers from around Gerald’s throat. They had restrained her at a safe distance from him whilst he had coughed and spluttered in outraged indignation; having no concept of the trouble he had caused or understanding as to why, his hitherto affectionate younger sister, seemed intent on his demise at her own hands.

Discreet enquiries of all the local inns and around the district had produced no evidence as to where Ross had gone or even in which direction he had headed. All that remained of him was a name on the marriage certificate: Ross Devereaux.

Gerald in a fit of remorse had completed his final term at Oxford and bought himself a commission. He had spent most of the time since then on the Continent; fighting Bonaparte, and had gained a sterling reputation as a soldier and an officer. He had made his peace with Erica, who could not help but forgive her much-loved brother. He had always allowed her to play in his games despite the age gap and she had always been close to him.  But Gerald had found it more difficult to forgive himself and as such he avoided drinking in excess and always took great care to weigh up situations and consequences rather than rushing blindly on. His years in the army had fine-tuned his analytical skills so that he could assess situations efficiently and quickly; making him a valuable asset to Arthur Wellesley.

Erica
meanwhile was sent away for the final two years of her education to Miss Alum’s Academy For Young Ladies where she was taught the necessary skills needed by a young woman of her birth and breeding. Although she had enjoyed her time there and had made several good friends, Erica had been more than content to return to Monksleigh.

Great Uncle James
had taken the unusual decision in the absence of Gerald, to teach Erica all there was to know on estate management. “I’m not as young as I used to be,” he had explained to her “and someone needs to know how to go on should I suddenly push up my toes!”

He had found her a quick learner and before long he had introduced her to his interests in the stock market and business investments at which she had excelled. As the years had passed, unbeknownst to their neighbours, Erica had progressively taken over more and mo
re of the running of the estate and had entered some amazingly lucrative business ventures that had swelled her respectable inheritance into a disgustingly large fortune.

In the eyes of the law
of-course, the money belonged to her husband; a thought that made Erica clinch her teeth angrily in a very unladylike manner and which made her determined to annul the marriage as surreptitiously as possible, hopefully without her husband if he were still alive, ever knowing her true financial worth.

Seven years later and the knowledge of the marriage was still only known by the Reverend and Mrs. Beveridge, Uncle Richard, Gerald and Erica herself. It had even been decided that Great Uncle James and Great Aunt Ce
lia should be kept in ignorance as they were only likely to be stressed and agitated by it.

Of-course
this secrecy had caused problems in that Erica had been whisked off to London for her ‘come-out’ season at the age of eighteen and had received several offers of marriage from respectable young men.

Fortunately
from her point of view, she had not fallen in love and was therefore able to resist the pressure put on her from well meaning relatives to accept an offer. She knew however, that the pressure would increase if she attended a second season and that there was also a chance that she might meet someone with whom she could give her heart. It was therefore with extreme stubbornness that she refused to attend the delights of the capital, telling herself that once the annulment was secured she could allow herself the luxury of falling in love. She never dreamed that at the age of twenty-three she would still be in possession of an unknown and most definitely unwanted husband, whilst polite society were beginning to view her as past the marriageable age.

Erica ceased her musings on the past as she reached the small, green door in the wall that was positioned for the convenience of anyone walking into the village and back: the main gates being another mile or so along the road. She walked quickly through the park but stopped when she reached the point at which she could see the house.

Monksleigh Abbey was an impressive mansion set amidst extensive grounds and situated approximately two miles from the village of Abbeyforth in the county of Dorset. The house had been in the possession of the Wilmshurst family since the abolition of the monasteries in the reign of Henry VIII when they had been given the lands and title of Viscount for services rendered to the crown. It was rumoured among the family that an ancestress of theirs had been a favoured mistress of the monarch and that the price of her husband’s acceptance of the affair, was the land and title.

The original building had been replaced long since and as the Wilmshursts were as concerned with comfort as they were with prestige, they had built a house that was the envy of many of their friends and neighbours because it combined a luxurious homeliness with a quiet but unmistakable grandeur. It had been built from Portland stone on symmetrical lines and, although subsequent generations had added to and extended it, they had retained the style of the
original build. On a bright day the stone gleamed white; reflecting the sunlight and basking in a glow, proclaiming to all its beauty and superiority.